


Pretense

by holdouttrout



Series: Pretense [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-25
Updated: 2010-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdouttrout/pseuds/holdouttrout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was slightly comforted with the knowledge that it had been Daniel's suggestion--a joke about her lack of cooking prowess that had turned into a dare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretense

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born out of a conversation discussing Sam's abilities as a cook, and how she obviously needed lessons from someone, and then it was decided that Jack was so hot he could make cooking a wonderful sex substitute. Yeah, this isn't *exactly* as wonderfully innuendo-laden as I hoped I could make it, but it might be a nice little snack.

Jack held up the wooden spoon, cupping his hand underneath and bringing it to her. A couple of drops of the red sauce fell onto his fingers.  


Sam swallowed, her mouth watering, and leaned forward, darting out her tongue just before her lips closed over the edge.  


She closed her eyes and savored the taste of perfectly melded tomato, garlic and onion. When she opened them again, Jack was staring at her with an unfathomable expression in his eyes. He took back the spoon and set it on the counter.  


This hadn't started nearly innocently enough as it ought to have.  


For one thing, there was alcohol involved. It was, as Jack had put it, "Just a little beer," but Sam had forgotten how much control she needed over herself these days in order to make it through the day/night/mission/debriefing without inadvertently ending up thinking about rooms and guilt and force fields.  


Or sex.  


A little beer was plenty.  


She was slightly comforted with the knowledge that it had been Daniel's suggestion--a joke about her lack of cooking prowess that had turned into a dare--, but it was probably fruitless to point fingers. After all, Daniel wasn't the one in a kitchen with a barefoot Jack O'Neill, cooking spaghetti for a team night that, so far, was seriously lacking in the team department.  


Sam picked up her glass of wine and took a sip.  


This was such a bad idea.  


Jack cleared his throat. "I think the spaghetti's done."  


Sam started. "Right." She grabbed the colander and set it in the sink, taking the pot from the stove and emptying it carefully, pouring out the noodles last, and then taking the cooked and drained noodles and placing them back in the pot.  


Jack reached around her with the bottle of olive oil, dribbling a little into the noodles while Sam stirred the oil around them until the noodles slid over each other without sticking. Sam was very conscious of how close Jack was standing to her, how their sides just barely touched.  


It was so quiet in the kitchen that the sound of the gas burner under the sauce seemed too loud.  


"Looks good," Sam said awkwardly.  


"Mmhmm," Jack said, but he wasn't looking at the spaghetti.  


The microwave beeped, and Sam practically jumped out of her skin. She half-turned only to find herself trapped by Jack's body.  


"Vegetables," she said.  


"Uh huh." Jack didn't move.  


Sam found herself staring at Jack's neck. More precisely, at a little bead of sweat in a spot on Jack's neck right below his ear. It was definitely hot in the kitchen, but not _that_ hot.  


Jack raised a finger to her temple, brushed a piece of hair back from her eyes.  


Then again, maybe it _was_ that hot.  


Sam leaned forward slightly, intent on that one spot of skin. Her breath rasped in her own ears, and she knew--knew that of all the bad ideas that had led to this moment, this one would blow them all away.  


"Sam--" Jack said, the word tinged with longing, with regret.  


It came a little too late. She hesitated, but she didn't stop.  


She was centimeters away from his bare skin, her head filled with the sounds of his breath, the scent of his skin.  


The door opened.  


"Sorry it took us so long. Teal'c insisted on looking at all the magazines in the grocery store."  


Sam halted. Jack turned his head toward her so their lips almost met. He sighed and then stepped back.  


"You talked him out of _The National Enquirer_, I hope," he said. Sam had to admire how steady his voice was, how good he was at pretending nothing had even thought about happening.  


She sidestepped around him on her way to the microwave.  


"It is an engaging source of news, O'Neill." Teal'c moved into the kitchen, holding a loaf of bread. He presented it to Sam with a smile that she returned as best she could.  


Jack grabbed two trivets and meandered toward the dining room while Daniel shrugged out of his jacket, throwing it over one of Sam's completely useless barstools.  


"News implies that it's true, Teal'c." Daniel grabbed both the pot of spaghetti and the sauce and followed Jack.  


"I do not understand why someone would print falsehoods."  


Daniel sighed.  


Sam grabbed a knife and the cutting board, gripping them just a little tightly, trying to decide who had worse timing: Daniel and Teal'c, or herself.  


Stupid. She was stupid.  


From the other room, Jack called, "You coming, Carter?"  


She took a breath, squared her shoulders, and said, "I'll be right in." As soon as she remembered how to pretend.  



End file.
